In Dreams
by Pandorasbox917
Summary: Norrington can't sleep. For sleeping meant dreaming, something that he was no longer allowed to do. NorringtonGillette & Norrington?. PostPOTC 2 a few vague spoilersStandard Disclaimer applies


Norrington was unable to sleep due to the blinding pain in his head and the fear gripping his chest. Beckett knew. He had to. There was no way to miss the allusion to a certain Lieutenant that Norrington was "overly fond of".

"_How am I supposed to trust that you really are interested in helping me over your rag tag little friends?" _

_Norrington glared Beckett down. _

"_I am interested in getting that pardon for myself. You have what you want, you don't need my help."_

"_All the same," He grew closer to James, running a finger down his chest, "I believe a show of loyalty is in order." _

_And the bloody bastard kissed him. _

_Shocked, it took Norrington a few moments to push him back. _

"_Get off of me you pathetic little-" _

"_Really James, learning a thing or two from your French lapdog?" _

_Before Norrington knew what he was doing, he had backhanded Beckett. The other man grinned slyly, not deigning to rub his flaming cheek. _

"_Hit a nerve? A rather, tender one?" _

_Norrington's fists clenched at his sides and Beckett stepped out of striking range. Coward. _

"If it's all the same to you James, I would tread carefully around me. I have some rather, interesting information regarding Armand that could get both of you into a world of trouble."

The thing was is that not matter what Beckett had been referring to, there was a lot about Gillette that was damming. The man had flat out lied in regards to having been born in France as well as a Catholic. Normally, he had enough sense to evade, mislead, even flee from a question, but Armand had lied. Then there was the matter of being related to Vice-amiral d'escadre Mathieu Gillette, through the distant connection of sharing both a mother and a father. Such connections were frowned upon.

And then there was the fact that Armand had somehow found his way into Norrington's bed and had indeed fallen asleep after performing several "unspeakable deeds" with Norrington. If nothing else, Whitehall tended to frown upon said unspeakable deeds.

But God how they both had needed them.

The second Gillette realized that Norrington was back; he had raced to the ex-Commodore's old rooms and had flung himself into his lover's arms. Norrington had long since ordered Gillette to remain at Fort Charles, to keep an eye on Norrington's men. The Lieutenant had gone above and beyond what James had asked, and was now at the brink of attaining captain. But as James clung to his trembling armful of Gillette, he could only nod in acquiescence as Armand swore to him in tearful, broken English, that he would never leave him behind again.

James would give up his life for Armand and the Frenchman had grudgingly accepted James' claim; it was now time for James to realize his lover would do the same.

Norrington tightened his hold on Gillette, shielding the pale body with his own; he closed his eyes in thought.

Moments later, a crash brought Norrington's full and undivided attention to the door. Beckett and his soldiers swarmed the room and he felt someone trying to drag Gillette's body from his arms.

"GET OFF OF HIM YOU BASTARD!"

Armand, now awake, began thrashing in an attempt to break free and help James.

"Fis a putain, licheor plain d'anvie! Lichieres pautonnier le lignage desloial et felon!"

Understandably, the strain of the situation seemed to cause Gillette to loose his capacity for something equally as cutting in English.

The Frenchman caught sight of Beckett, who was grinning in delight at his unobstructed view of a distinctly naked James. Succombing to the low class instinct, Gillette spit, hitting Beckett in the face in a most undignified manner.

"Tricheor! Tricheor!"

"Gillette, stop! You aren't helping yourself any! Just stop!"

The tirade ended with Gillette glaring murderously at Beckett.

"I hereby assist in the arrest of one Mr. Armand Gillette on the charge of High Treason for consorting with the enemy." Beckett unfolded a letter from his pocket and Gillette could see his brother Mathieu's distinctive handwriting.

"Fils de bas de put aire." But Gillette seemed defeated. Beckett shook his head, unwavering smile on his face.

"But you didn't seem to mind that James was an unclean bastard just a few hours ago. Keep going Monsieur, and I'll add sodomy to your list of crimes as well. And that would in course drag James into this whole mess."  
For once, Norrington was amazed to see Gillette keep his mouth shut. Indeed, the Frenchman's body sagged and he was half dragged from the room.

"Execution at sunrise, James. Best be punctual for it."

Norrington could not help the trembling that coursed through his body at the sight of the noose being tightened around Armand. The drumming stopped and the resounding crack that was his lover's slender neck snapping echoed in James' ears so many times he wondered if it would ever stop.

Norrington woke screaming, his heart so broken that he felt a physical pain in his chest. Long pale arms drew him close to his lover, as he rested his head against the thin chest.

"There, there, it's alright now James. Just don't think about it anymore."

James wrenched himself free from the constricting arms to glare at his lover's condescending tone.

"It's not alright. It never will be alright again."

Beckett smiled and drew an unwilling James closer to his chest again.


End file.
